


The Art of Picking Up Strays

by Kiromenanz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-War, accidental magical creature adoption, but only a little Ron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:54:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiromenanz/pseuds/Kiromenanz
Summary: Severus finds a magical creature. He isnotkeeping it, no matter what Lovegood says.Meanwhile Hermione isn't looking for a pet either, but there is one stray in particular who she might not mind adopting (hint, it's Severus).
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 5
Kudos: 121
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	The Art of Picking Up Strays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hurricanelola](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurricanelola/gifts).



> Happy birthday Lola! (imagine hyperkitty here, please!)  
> I hope this makes you smile a little. Thank you for being such a lovely ray of sunshine, you are always a damn delight <3\. Enjoy your special day and the rest of your special month!  
> And thank you to Morbidmuch for being an amazing beta again <3\. Any remaining mistakes are my own :))

The figure on the doorstep of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, looked a little like someone had dipped a crow into a puddle. The man was tall, thin and scraggly. From the back, his colouring was barely distinguishable from the washed and worn dark grey of the house’s facade. If one looked closer, one could tell that there were two other colours: The pale white of his skin – only broken by the flush of his sizable nose – and the red crimson of the furry being in his arms. 

Severus Snape rang the doorbell again. The bright red fluffball he was awkwardly holding in his hands shook itself and peered over his black-clad forearm into the world. 

It resembled a cat, or rather a kitten. But it wasn’t quite that – its face was too squashed, its fur too bright in the rainy afternoon light. Its eyes were large, round and almost yellow. They seemed to glow from within. Its paws were large, like a puppy’s, and seemed to hint at a future growth spurt. For now, however, the thing was about as big as a pineapple, the leaves replaced by a bushy tail with a black tip. 

On the third ring, someone opened the door. 

For a second, Severus was convinced he was at the wrong house. The face that greeted him was not familiar, and neither was the wild bush of corkshew locks. What clued him in, after a second or two of confused blinking, was the colour of the hair (bright purple) and the expression of amused confusion. 

“Tonks.”

“Snape.”

They stared at each other for another moment. 

“You’re not going to ask me to come inside?” Severus prompted ultimately. “That’s rather rude.”

Tonks produced a twizzler from somewhere in the pocket of her robe and tore at it with her teeth. “You came by uninvited. Pot, cauldron, etcetera.” 

“Miss Lovegood expects me.”

Only then did Tonks seem to notice the bundle of fur in his arms. Instead of asking questions, she just nodded. “Might have led with that.”

“It’s  _ literally _ right in my – you know what, nevermind.”

She stepped to the side and he pressed past her. 

The scent of Grimmauld Place assaulted him like a long forgotten memory. It froze him in his tracks for a second, but he breathed past it. The thing in his arms sank its sharp little claws into his arms and he hissed. 

“Where is she? I want to get rid of this thing.”

The creature didn’t seem to object to be called a thing. Or maybe that was because of the quick scratch he gave its head when Tonks turned her back to lead him into the kitchen.

In the kitchen he was confronted, without any sort of warning, with a Weasley.

Upon closer inspection it turned out to be Ronald Weasley, which was preferable to, let’s say, a human-sized flubber worm, but not to much else.

Ronald stopped in the middle of chewing a truly massive breakfast fry up. 

“Shir?”

The furball decided it was bored and began its ascent onto Severus’ shoulder. He let it. “It’s five pm, Mister Weasley.”

Ronald swallowed audibly. “So?”

Luckily, at that moment Miss Lovegood decided to turn up and eye him with her large, overly blue eyes. He all but thrust the thing at her with a grunt. She took it with characteristic aplomb.

While Miss Lovegood was studying the thing (it seemed to have webbing between its toes and was, apparently, female), Severus was alerted to the presence of someone else in the kitchen. He couldn’t possibly say how he knew – there was a shift in the air, maybe. Maybe it was the small intake of breath, almost impossible to hear, from the direction of the doorway. Possibly, he thought, he’d smelled her shampoo – a wave of something resembling oranges, with a freshness only found in the air after an unexpected summer rain. 

It was strange, he thought. To him, it felt as if lightning had hit him where he stood. To everyone else in the room, it seemed as if her presence changed nothing. Not even the obnoxious furball showed any sign of caring about her presence. It was currently yawning at Miss Lovegood, who took the opportunity to peer at its little sharp incisors (it had eight, for some reason) as if they held the secrets of the universe. 

Severus turned around.

Miss Granger was bleary-eyed. Her hair was a complete catastrophe – it flew around her head in a voluminous cloud, but was flattened on the side where she must have lain to sleep. There was something smudged on her cheek, and it took him a second to realise it must be ink. Had she slept on her books?

When she saw him, she froze in the doorway. Her gaze fell to the table, where Miss Lovegood was tickling the creature’s toes. Mister Weasley, cheeks as full as a chipmunk’s, was still making his way through the food, unbothered by the creature’s fluffy posterior only inches from his plate. Tonks was sitting on the counter and didn’t seem to be doing anything except snacking on more twizzlers.

“It’s a party.” Miss Granger commented ultimately. Severus unfroze himself. Unfortunately there wasn’t much he could do with his newfound ability to move again, so he just sort of… stood around.

When Miss Granger had finished looking around her own kitchen as if she’d never seen it before, her gaze returned to him. It was a little sharper now, and she rubbed her hands on her jeans. “So to what do we owe the honour, Professor? Come to insist some more that my interpretation of Princess Naiara’s Manuscripts is – how did you phrase it –  _ a waste of the journal’s ink and paper _ ?” 

Severus resisted rolling his eyes with monumental effort. “Why, did you have some new brilliant idea while you – excuse my pun – slept on it?”

For a moment, she didn’t seem to realise what he was getting at. Then, realisation rose in her eyes. They widened and her hand flew up to rub at her cheek and try to smooth down her hair. It was a wasted effort, but Severus very much enjoyed watching it happen. 

“I think it’s a half-kneazle,” Miss Lovegood suddenly pronounced. Severus turned back to her with reluctance. She was holding the thing out to him. “Other half Californian Waterkneader.” 

She was still holding it. The thing was only inches from his face. Severus went a little cross-eyes trying to glare it down. “That’s lovely,” his tone making clear that it was anything but. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

She treated him to a raised eyebrow that he found rather offensive. “She’s yours. She’ll need plenty of water and, ideally, a place to swim.”

“She’s not  _ mine _ .” 

He looked around the room, he did not know what for. There was hardly help coming from anyone here – Ronald Weasley was clearly trying to get very intimately acquainted with his absurdly late breakfast or absurdly breakfast-y dinner. Meanwhile, Tonks seemed determined to see Severus suffer and decimate all the disgusting sweets in the country while she was at it. Hermione Granger was watching him with crossed arms, leant against the doorframe. The amusement on her face was evident. 

“I see you still dislike taking responsibility for what you bring to my doorstep,” she commented, “Just like that one time you sent me the most ridiculous translation of that ancient runes manuscript and then had no memory of it.”

Severus was so flooded with indignation, he hardly knew what to say for a moment. “First of all, it is hardly my responsibility that your arguments are faulty and that your reading comprehension is somehow entirely lacking. Second of all – this is hardly  _ your  _ doorstep, you live in a shared house. As far as I know, Potter is still on the deed for the house itself. You just get to occupy this hovel while he traipses off to do Merlin knows what Potter does.”

Granger didn’t even look slightly angry. She looked  _ amused.  _ Severus scowled. 

“He’s in Brazil, playing Quidditch,” Ronald helpfully provided, entirely missing the point of the conversation as he was wont to do. 

Severus did roll his eyes at that. “Brazil again? What on earth everyone thinks they’ll find there mystifies me.”

Ronald blinked at him owlishly. “Again?”

Granger finally separated herself from the doorframe and went to pour herself some tea. The movement sent another wave of the scent of her shampoo washing over Severus. “Hagrid and Madame Maxime are currently touring Brazil. I assume that’s why you’re here, and not at Hogwarts? Everyone knows that Professor Grubbly-Plank can’t stand the sight of you.” This, too, seemed to amuse her somewhat. 

“She’s not the only one,” Ronald mumbled into his egg. 

“Sorry Ron, can’t hear you over all that egg you got on your chin,” Granger threw back good-naturedly. Ronald grumbled but did not attempt any more witty repartee, which left Severus free to resume his staring contest with the fluffy red thing. 

“I’m not taking it,” he told Lovegood. She responded to this by tickling out the creature’s claws and just hooking them into Severus’ robes. It felt a little like a cross-body bag, except Severus had never worn one of those because they looked ridiculous. He was very sure he looked absolutely foolish with the fuzzy thing clinging to him as he was its only raft in the middle of the ocean. 

Granger seemed to agree, judging by her sweet little giggles. 

Severus all of a sudden felt very uncomfortable. He tried to peel the thing’s claws from his robe. It suffered his attempts with much patience and no cooperation. He gave up with a scowl and attempted to glare Miss Lovegood into submission. “I am  _ not _ taking it. I came here to leave it with you.”

She giggled. “And whatever should I do with a lovely little dear like that? No, don’t be silly. Now that you know what she is, you can keep her.”

It seemed, Severus reflected morosely, that everyone had utterly lost all respect for him after school. Well, except perhaps Mister Weasley, who he glared at just for good measure. He got some very nice paling and fidgeting for his trouble. 

They still wouldn’t keep the creature, though, no matter how much he insisted.

That night, Severus found himself in his quarters, looking at the thing napping on his carpet. It looked kind of peaceful that way, almost sweet. Still, he had no intention of keeping it. He’d simply have to do the Slytherin thing and trick them. 

So, writing his next biting rebuttal of Granger’s ridiculous last article (brilliantly researched and very smartly put, of course, but with multiple logical failings), he plotted. 

The next day, he was at their doorstep again. 

This time, it was Granger who opened the door to him. She was wearing a long-sleeved dress in soft pink. It brought out the colour of her skin very nicely. 

The creature dug its claws into Severus’ arm again. At least that jolted him out of his thoughts.

“Again, Professor? One would almost think you like visiting us.”

He bared his teeth at her. “Don’t flatter yourself. I have better things to do than spend time with those who think grizzled mugwort grows a tap root system.”

Granger, to his utter delight, flushed. “That was one time! You know, I have half a mind to slam this door in your face.”

“You can try. If you only take half as long as your paragraphs take when trying to get to the point, I’ll be able to leave and come back three times before you manage.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Thank you. Now let me meet Miss Lovegood. I found another one.”

Her eyebrows lifted. It directed his attention to some wispy strands of hair which were teasing her forehead. They looked soft. 

“Another one?”

He lifted his eyebrow and the creature. This time, it was blue (advanced fur-dyeing potion) and he’d added some wings for good measure. “Obviously.”

She let him in. Today, she smelled like peaches.

Miss Lovegood was in the library, poking a corner of it with her wand. 

“She’s looking for doxy nests,” Granger whispered to him. “She says we may be breeding a new species here.”

The creature in his arms fidgeted. Severus stroked her absent-mindedly and allowed her to climb upon his shoulder. “Didn’t the Order basically disinfect this place top to bottom?”

Granger shrugged. He could feel the movement against his shoulder. “She says the eggs may have melted into the wall.”

“They did  _ what– _ ”

Miss Lovegood chose that moment to unfold herself from the floor. “Professor, you’re back. Did you accidentally take one of the  Umgubular Slashkilters? I seem to be missing one since yesterday. Ron and Neville promised they didn’t see it.”

Severus turned to Granger, who waved her hands in a  _ not me  _ gesture. He smirked. “I couldn’t possibly say.”

Miss Lovegood looked thoughtful for a moment. Then she shrugged. “Oh well, I’m sure they’ll turn up. Is this another one?”

Severus pried it off his shoulder and thrust it into her arms. “Yes. Someone seems to enjoy dumping them on the grounds. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have potions to prepare.”

He turned to go but was halted by Granger’s smirk. 

“What?”

“Potions, you say? I’m just wondering, such as your improved formula for the headache relief potion?”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Yes, why?”

Her smirk grew more pronounced. “So how’s that powdered siltstone reacting with the mimosa oil? You know, seeing as they are actually both coagulants? Which you incidentally left out a little in your brilliant contribution to  _ Potion’s Quarterly, _ by the way” 

Severus bit down on a curse. Unfortunately, Granger’s superior expression told him  _ something  _ had given him away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Granger. Now excuse me, I have better things to be doing than to waste time with you lot.” 

Her damn superior smirk stuck to the forefront of his mind all the way home. It weighed him down, to think that she could affect him so. 

Back in his cozy study, he found that his potion had, indeed, melted into a congealed mess due to the reaction of stone and oil. He also found out that the weight on his back had, in actuality, nothing to do with his potion or Miss Granger’s effect on him. Rather, it was due to the creature, which Miss Lovegood seemed to have stuck to the robes on his back like a magnet to a fridge. 

He scowled at the thing. It made a sort of chirruping sound. 

He had to pet it then, really. There was little other choice. 

It didn’t mean he ceased trying to get rid of it. The next day, he turned up on their doorstep with a black creature in tow. Its claws were charmed blunt to prevent further attempts to hook her onto his clothing. He had shortened the fur and changed the shape of the eyes. He thrust it at Lovegood, who opened the door this time. Granger was peeking over her shoulder. 

“Ah, professor. Just in time for lunch. How was your potion?”

“I detest you.”

She had the audacity to wink at him.

He still stayed for lunch. Granger made a mean roast. 

When he returned to his quarters, a chirruping sound from his robes alerted him to the creature, sized down considerably, sitting comfortably in one of his pockets. Lovegood must have stuck her in there – most likely when he had been distracted debating Flitwick’s latest essay on advanced hovering charms with Granger. There had been insults flying, and she had lost her composure enough to accidentally call him  _ Snape.  _ It had been glorious.

He took the creature out and resized her. She cuddled up in his arms and continued her nap. There was a note tied around her paw. 

_ I know what you’re doing,  _ Lovegood’s squiggly handwriting told him.  _ And it’s sweet, really. But I do have a job to do. Please solve your creature problems by yourself. Ps: If you do see my Umgubular Slashkilter, please send it back through the floo.  _

The next morning, Severus made an honest effort to be nice to Grubbly-Plank at breakfast. He even asked her to pass the sugar, which she charmed into salt. He wandlessly tied her shoelaces together while chewing on his ruined porridge. 

Lovegood it was. 

It became a little bit of a pattern.

“That one has scales,” Granger pointed out on her way to get some toast. She was wearing her nightgown, which was technically a t-shirt. It ended way above her knees. Severus was not looking. 

“Observant, Granger,” he sniped back, “I see you used your time away from school to lose all critical thinking skills.”   
“At least I didn’t use it to look up  _ how to be a sourpuss  _ in the dictionaries seven nights a week.”

“I see your imagination turns to my nightly pursuits. Is there something you want to share with the class?”

The implications hit them at the same time. Hermione grabbed her toast and scapered. Severus suddenly found it intensely relevant to stare at the creature’s scales and study them in all their details. She yawned, little pink tongue poking past her incisors, curled up and went to sleep.

Lovegood, who was half-heartedly poking her wand at her, lowered it and sighed at him.

“You know, you could just  _ talk to her. _ ”

“I have no idea what you could possibly be referring to. Am I right to assume you won’t be taking this one either?”

She looked at him a little like his primary school teacher had when he’d spilled all the paint. “It’s the same one, Professor. We both know it’s the same one. I don’t understand why you won’t just  _ accept that  _ and find a placement for it yourself. I don’t run a shelter for every wayward creature you come across!”

“As you just pointed out, it’s just one creature,” Severus replied crossly. “I don’t understand why it’s such a struggle to take her off my hands.”

Lovegood just pressed her back into his arms without a reply. She began licking his fingers. He petted her face. 

“I’m beginning to wonder if the little fluffball is even why you’re here, you know,” she said.

Severus suddenly decided a strategical retreat might be in order. It was because he’d forgotten lunch – not because of anything Lovegood had or hadn’t said. 

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Severus was trying to keep the creature (he’d nicknamed her Abigail, just for now, to make things easier) from running rampant over his body. He had given her double the amount of legs this time, and dyed the fur blue, but she apparently saw that as an invitation to double her speed, as well. 

“She’s in Brazil.” Granger said over her book. “Said something about locating Iara.”

He stared at the crown of her head. The sun fell through the window of the library and painted it a golden brown. He wanted to touch it. “Why is everyone always in Brazil?”

“Good question,” she said without looking up. “Hey, you have a minute, right?”

“I do have a job, you know.” Still, he moved closer to the desk. His eyes fell onto the bock she was leaning over. “Is that the new translation of Naiara’s letters?”

She looked up at that. The sun fell across her eyes, too. She squinted. They looked like they were glowing from within, and Severus swallowed heavily. “It is! This translator butchered the words  _ utterly  _ though, look at this–”

When he came back home, he only realised he was still holding Abigail when she leaped out of his arms to make her way to her food bowl. He hadn’t even remembered that she’d been why he’d gone to Grimmauld Place in the first place.

After that, the only sensible thing was to visit the house more often. Just to make sure Miss Lovegood hadn’t returned.

That was the only reason.

He charmed Abigail into a different colour after his early breakfast each morning, then took a stroll down to Hogsmeade and apparated into the city. By nine am, he knocked on the door of Grimmauld Place. By that time, most inhabitants of the house had gone – Longbottom off to university classes or his part-time work, Tonks to the ministry, and Ronald to Merlin knew where. Severus suspected he just ran out the moment the clock approached nine to avoid Severus, which worked just fine for him.

With Miss Lovegood still poking around in Brazilian bodies of water looking for mermaids, that left Severus and Hermione Granger alone in the house. 

Which was fine, really. Not a problem. 

Except Miss Granger knew about as much about Abigail’s origin as he did, which was nothing. Which meant that, after a few days, it occurred to him that he basically just brought Abigail by for a few cuddles and playtime on the library’s carpet. 

Which was also, fine, really. It wasn’t like it was  _ unpleasant _ . Except it didn’t really fulfill the purpose of his visits. 

Not that he knew what the purpose of his visits was, really. It had gotten sort of nebulous.

“Tea?” Granger asked him one Wednesday morning. She had only just opened the door for him and was already on her way back to the kitchen, secure in the knowledge that Severus would follow. He did, Abigail trotting along on the floor beside him.

In the kitchen, Severus leant against a counter. While the kettle was heating up, Abigail jumped up on Granger’s lap to receive pets. Her gentle, slow strokes along the creature’s back (black and white stripes today) only drew Severus’ gaze down to her hands. They were delicate and yet competent, short nails painted pastel yellow. 

The whistling of the kettle brought him back to his senses. He turned to the tea cabinet. 

“I assume you’re expecting me to make it?” 

Granger laughed. “I’m occupied, as you can see. And you might as well earn your keep.”

“There are other ways I could do that,” Severus mumbled to himself. While measuring out the leaves. Abigail jumped from his lap and began weaving between his legs. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I assume you still take disgustingly high amounts of sugar in your tea?”

“It’s only disgusting to you because you refuse all positive things out of principle.” 

Severus smirked at her over his shoulder but said nothing.  _ Obviously not,  _ he thought while adding the sugar,  _ I’m here, aren’t I? _

Granger was wearing a grey cable-knit jumper today. It was so large that it fell below her knees, and she kept having to roll up the sleeves. “It’s Neville’s,” she told him when he remarked upon it. “His closet is a mess, he doesn’t realise half the stuff he owns. Plus, you know, Ron’s chaos migrated into his room. Since they are–”

Severus did not know and he certainly did not  _ want  _ to know, so he changed the topic with aplomb. Still, he couldn’t help but watch her hands whenever she rolled the jumper’s sleeves up with deft movements. 

He stayed well into the afternoon. If pressed, he had no answer what they had even filled the time with. Abigail had napped most of the day away, lazy as she was. There had been books, he knew, and heated debates about wandwork and runes and law interpretations. Still, his clearest memory of the day was Granger’s wispy hair coming free from the haphazard bun at the back of her head, and the way her yellow nails looked against the grey of Longbottom’s jumper. 

That night, he sat in front of the hearth for an immeasurable amount of time, Abigail on his lap. The newest _Potions Quarterly_ was open on a side table, but he wasn’t reading it. Still now and then he looked over at it and at the small, black-and-white portrait of the article’s author printed by her name. _Hermione Granger,_ it said, _youngest graduate of the London University of Magical Sciences_ _in fifty years, is currently writing on her doctoral thesis on the subject of_ _Ancient Brazilian Wandlore._ _Her areas of research include, but are not limited to, Latin American folklore, ancient runes in Roman times, and the rise and decline of the usage of Greek in spells and magical rituals._

The black-and-white Granger threw him a smile now and then. Her hair was tamed in a strict braid. 

Severus liked the bun better. 

He sat in front of the hearth and wondered what she would look like in his own jumpers until it was time to sleep.

The next day, he arrived on Granger’s doorstep with a deep purple animal that resembled more a puppy than a kitten and a resolution: something had to change. As exhilarating as things were at the moment, they were also giving him white hairs with the anxiety. After the wars he had decided he was  _ done  _ with tying himself into a knot over other people. Nobody, not even Hermione Granger, was allowed to change that. 

The resolution held fast all the way until she opened the door. 

She was wearing another jumper today, but this one fit. It was a soft robin’s egg blue. Her jeans were cut off at the knees. She should look silly, he reflected, but she didn’t. Damn the woman. 

She leaned her hip against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “Hello there, Professor. Did you have a good morning?”

_ I’m having one now,  _ he thought, and that settled it. 

He thrust Abigail at Granger. 

Granger took her, apparently on reflex. She blinked down at the creature, who purred back at her and attempted to lick Granger’s fingers. 

“What am I supposed to do with it?” Even while she was complaining, she was scratching Abigail under her chin. The pur intensified. 

“You have your own brain, figure it out. I’m not a daycare for wayward creatures. You can ask Miss Lovegood, if she ever returns from Brazil.”

“But–”

She looked utterly lovely on the doorstep, bathed in the soft morning light. Severus did the only sensible thing and Apparated away.

Hermione, completely speechless, stared down at the bundle of fur in her arms. 

“What on earth was that?”

The creature offered no explanation. Hermione petted it nevertheless, for good measure, and took it to the kitchen to get her some food. 

She watched the creature chew on a very expensive bit of salmon and came up with a plan.

Later that day, she Apparated to Hogwarts to set it in motion.

“This is so unethical, Hermione,” Hermione said. The bundle in her arms yawned in response and snuggled deeper into the warmth. Hermione envied it – the grounds around Hogwarts were muddy, cold and grey. She wished she, too, had some warm arms to cuddle into… a large hand to stroke her head… or maybe hold her hand…

She shook her head viciously. The creature in her arms squealed in protest and tried to find its previous position again. Hermione patted it in apology. 

_ If he finds out he did this, he will have my head. _

But she just had to  _ know.  _ There had been looks – she’d be a fool not to notice the looks. But she’d be an even bigger fool not to notice what the looks did to her, which was the important bit. 

She needed more time, she told herself. And she wasn’t doing anything illegal. Just… relocating a magical creature. With some small changes to its appearance to make it unrecognizable. There weren’t  _ laws  _ against it. Sure, yes, introducing new magical creatures to an environment without prior approval was  _ technically  _ illegal, but the law was very vague, and anyway, it would only be for a short while. Probably. As long as Snape found it again, that is.

Which he would. Probably. He had found all the others, right?

Hermione sighed and placed her little wrapped creature on the ground. The creature didn’t want to leave the blanket, but some gentle coaxing and a few treats convinced it. Then  it sat back on  its haunches and looked at Hermione with big eyes and a cocked head. 

“Don’t look at me like that, you’ll be collected in no time. Now, what to do with you…”

Five minutes later, the creature was yellow instead of purple and its fur was replaced with feathers. Hermione debated adding a beak but decided that would be overkill. “Good enough,” she decided. “Now you just stay right here, okay? He’ll come pick you up soon, I’m sure.”

The creature began to clean its feather and fur coat as if it had not a care in the world. 

Hermione left it there, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, near the secret dungeons exit, and tried not to feel like she was leaving a child alone at the supermarket. 

It took Severus less than ten hours. 

On Sunday morning, bright and early, the doorbell rang incessantly. Hermione, already dressed and having put on and removed make up hours ago (she wanted to look pretty but not like she was  _ trying  _ too hard), shot out of her room like a woman possessed. Tonks, who was wearing a skunk onesie and blearily eating cereal in the middle of the hall, stepped out of her way smoothly but didn’t once look up. 

Hermione would like to say she opened the door calmly, but it was more a yanking motion. The door’s edge caught against some coats hung up in the hall and they thundered down. She winced but left them there. She had more important things to focus on.

The sun outside shone brightly. Severus on the doorstep looked, against the bright light, like a corporeal shadow. 

The little feathered thing in his arms chittered when it saw Hermione. 

Hermione looked up and squinted against the brightness. 

Severus’ face became visible in stages as her eyes adjusted to the light. When she finally saw his expression, she kind of wished she still thought him expressionless. 

His eyebrow was lifted. He was staring at her with a kind of knowing intensity that gave her flutters in her stomach. She wiped her moist palms on her jeans. “Yes?” 

“Funny story,” he said drily. “Guess what I found today?”

Hermione tried to look innocent. “It looks like another magical creature. Do you think someone keeps dropping them off? Some sort of illegal breeder, maybe?”

Severus was stroking the creature’s head, which was highly distracting. He had very attractive hands. “What on earth would we have an illegal breeder in Hogwarts for? Do you think one of our students is so bored that they’re breeding highly dangerous magical creatures on the side?”

They both remembered Hagrid at the same time. Hermione shrugged. Severus rolled his eyes. “Well, in this case it’s no student. It was you.”

This was what being hit with electricity must feel like, Hermione thought. It was a little like exhilaration, a little like terror. She fidgeted, then forced herself to still. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, Granger, you can’t fool me. This is the exact same animal I left with you yesterday.” 

Hermione gave up. “Call me Hermione, then.” 

Now it was on Severus to look shocked. “Why?” 

Hermione shrugged again and fixed her gaze on a spot under her bare foot. She hadn’t thought to put on shoes, why had she not done that? Now her blue toenails were out for the world to see. Did he think they were childish? She shrugged a third time. “Since you said I can’t fool you anyway. You might as well.”

The following silence stretched on so long that Hermione almost thought he’d left. 

She looked up and almost flinched. His gaze was a physical thing, so dark and intense it felt a little like standing under the spotlight for her primary school’s play. Her face felt hot. 

“I’m afraid,” he murmured, “You’ll have to be clearer with me. Hermione.”

Hermione felt a little like she didn’t even have a body anymore. The only evidence that she had was the purring weight in her arms. “You know what I’m saying. Don’t make me say it, not after you left me standing around like an idiot here yesterday.”

Severus reached out. For a horrible, wonderful moment she thought he wanted to touch her, but he instead reached for the creature. He pet her between the ears. The purring intensified. 

“Do you know why I knew immediately that this is the same creature as yesterday, and not a new one?” He asked. His voice was silky and low, as if he was imparting a secret. 

“Because my colouring charms were a little off considering the creature’s inherent magical signature?”

She actually got a smile for that. It looked a little reluctant, as if he hadn’t meant for it to slip through. He suppressed it immediately, but she had seen it. 

“Also very true. You should consider Thais’ third law of the interaction of magical signatures next time.”

Hermione opened her mouth for a retort, but he interrupted her. 

“But  _ actually _ ,” he continued, still so very softly, “I knew because there are no other creatures.”

The words somehow made no sense. Hermione felt a little as if they were floating in front of her face – clearly readable, but not permeating her skull. “What?” 

“I said,” he continued, hand on the creature’s yellow fur travelling further in the direction of its back, where Hermione’s hand lay, still. “That there is only one creature. There has never even been two – just this one.”

Hermione’s mind was racing a mile a minute. He’d been lying from the start? Why? To get rid of the creature? But he should have known it wouldn’t work – especially once Luna had left with no intention of coming back anytime soon. And yet, there he had been, at her doorstep every day –  _ her  _ doorstep. When everyone else was out. Which could only mean – only mean–

When the words came, they had a breathless quality. Hermione’s heart was racing too quickly for her to even care. “What are you saying?”

“What I am saying,” he whispered, and had his face always been this close, his eyes always this dark, his scent always this compelling? “Is that you should call me Severus.”

When he kissed her, the creature in her arms purred so loudly that one could have heard it all the way from inside the house. Hermione, caught up in Severus’ lips, didn’t even notice. 

It was on their honeymoon that Severus finally figured out what the hell was in Brazil. As he laid on the beach with Abigail purring on his chest and Hermione by his side, her impossible hair tickling his arm and the scent of the ocean filling him up, he realised it was just this. Apparently, he mused, there was happiness in Brazil. 

But then, he figured, happiness was wherever she was.


End file.
